Of Coffee and Spice
by Dark-Phantasmagoria
Summary: AU drabble; fem!cass, no smut Dane Chester is in Starbucks coffee on a chilly November morning when he runs into, literally, Cassandra. He swears that he knows her, and tries to find out just who this interesting girl is.


Of Coffee and Spice

Dane Chester opened the glass door to Starbucks Coffee, hearing the faint _tinkle _of a bell as he walked inside. He adjusted his black leather jacket, ran a hand through his short brown hair, and went to stand in line with other cold strangers who were in need of a energy at nine a.m. Looking around, Dane observed that the coffee shop had been decorated to reflect the autumn colors outside. There were numerous pumpkins of different sizes and colors on the counters, and several candles were lit, making the shop smell of cinnamon and cider. Dane liked the smell and thought it was a nice change from the moldy motel room he was staying in. Dane practically lived in motels because of his everlasting 'road trip' across the country that required him to adopt different aliases quite often… Finally, it was Dane's turn to order. He looked at the blond-haired cashier and said "Just a coffee." She nodded and smiled. "Which size would you like? Tall, grande or venti?" Dane looked at her with displeasure. He had never liked Starbucks' naming system.

"A tall," he grunted. Several minutes later, Dane was taking his hot cup of coffee from the counter and adding the necessary cream. He stuffed his receipt in the back pocket of his worn out blue jeans. With that, Dane turned to head out the door when he collided into someone. His coffee spilled everywhere, and he swore loudly.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," said the girl who he had bumped into. She was tall, had black hair that was styled in a pixie cut, and wore a black trench coat with a scarlet scarf and dark blue jeans. She immediately grabbed some napkins and helped clean Dane up.

"Don't worry about it," Dane said, feeling bad that he had swore at the girl. He finished cleaning his jacket off and threw the napkins away.

"I'm Dane," he said, extending his hand, which was now clean of scalding coffee.

"Cassandra," the girl smiled, shaking his hand. Dane looked at her, and was struck by her deep blue eyes and kind expression.

"Can I make it up to you? How about I buy your coffee?" Dane asked immediately. The girl nodded, and minutes later they were sitting at a table outdoors, enjoying two coffees together while watching the red and orange leaves cascade to the ground in little gusts of wind. Cassandra was incredibly kind, and it turned out that she didn't have a permanent home either.

"I travel all over, mostly doing charity work—I'm sort of a starving artist," she laughed. Dane nodded, interested.

"What sort of art do you do?" he asked.

"Mostly painting, and I occasional do sculptures," she said.

"That's awesome! I'm crap when it comes to art," Dane laughed. He couldn't take his eyes off of this girl, mainly because she was very peculiar, headstrong, and didn't have much to say. But what struck Dane was that he swore he had met her before.

"And you're sure that we haven't met?" he asked for the third time, his déjà vu bothering him. Cassandra laughed, and it sounded like the clear ringing of bells.

"Yes Dane, I'm positive. I think I'd remember," she said. Dane grinned.

"So, how long are you going to be in town?" Cassandra asked. Dean shrugged. In honesty, he would probably be there for two days at maximum, for he was a private eye who had a list of cases to attend to. But, he gave a 'rough' estimate.

"Not sure, maybe a week," he said. Cassandra nodded.

"Well, you seem nice Dane. Thanksgiving's in two days, and if you don't have anyone to spend it with, I'd gladly have you over," she said. Dane considered it for a moment. It was true—ever since his brother Sal had been killed during a case they'd been working two years ago, for they were partners in the field of unsolved mysteries, Dane had been on his own. His parents were dead, and he didn't really know any of his family. Maybe it would be nice to spend Thanksgiving with someone, even if it was a stranger. Dane smiled and nodded.

"Sure, I'd like that Cassie, do you mind if I call you Cassie?"

"Cassie's fine," Cassie said. Dane nodded. The two exchanged numbers and with that, the lonely wanderer of the FBI walked back to his 1967 red Camaro, glad that he had spilled coffee on a random stranger at nine in the morning.


End file.
